


Everything to Give

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: Chevalier: Le Chevalier D'Eon
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Possession is never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything to Give

**Author's Note:**

> D'eon/Lia (ish?). Written for kink bingo prompt "consent play". Warnings for incest. Probably dub-con. Spoilers (vaguely) for the first few episodes.

D'eon is not used to his sister yet. He knows Queen Marie told him he should accept her, that that will help her move toward peace. D'eon loves his sister and wants her soul to rest. He will help her, but it is still an experience he's reluctant to solicit. It's not just the dresses. Lia has always been the stronger one and D'eon is not entirely unhappy to yeild to her swordsmanship and skill. But he's never truly gone. He watches as if not through is own eyes. And though he wakes from each experience unsteady it is more because of the strong remainder of Lia's presence. Her spirit clinging to his mind and vision like the milky film of grease on dishwater.

D'eon doesn't want to invite her in. But he doesn't want to force her out. She deserves this, and he is lucky enough to be able to do something. So he practices, alone, in the dark of the night when the others are asleep. If this can be smooth, without the sword and cross, without the dress, without the threat of impending steel, then maybe, just maybe he can do this on his own terms. He does start with the dress though. But just the dress, no pslams or magic words. He stands facing a mirror and sees his sister staring back, but she moves her hand when he does and the spell is broken. Nights in a row he spends an hour before true sleep eyes closed, or open, calling Lia back, offering himself up so that maybe she'll ask. Maybe if they can do it this way he wont be taken by surprise, he wont have to worry about suddenly not being himself.

He wants to know, wants something of that control. He looses sleep and gains nothing. His companions haven't noticed yet, but they will. D'eon hopes he isn't running out of time. He would give Lia everything if she only asked. He just wants the power to say _yes_ for once. It's his body after all. And he would. He would.

Perhaps it's that final conviction. Perhaps that is the first night he has truly thought that no matter what he would give himself over wholly. They've fought _Poets_ and zombies and D'eon just wants his sister to be happy. He wants her to have a space without revenge. He wants to make things right. What is it to give one more thing. Either she'll give it back in the end, or he'll die and join her. Staring in the mirror, her hand rises to stroke her cheek, and D'eon doesn't move. Unlike every time they've been fighting, when the fury of her spirit blinds his own, when he waits behind her firey beauty for the end to come, this time he can see clearly. He isn't moving his arm, he isn't walking toward the mirror, but he feels those actions in his muslces.

He is fully aware like he never is when a sword becomes the extension of her arm. He can feel her presence but she isn't blinding, she isn't burning. She feels just like his Lia, he thinks perhaps he can smell her. A sent like Lily's and summer, the clean sweat that clung to the hair at the nape of her neck while she trained a vision of force in movement those days of their childhood. He feels her hand on his lips and the sensation is strange, both his own skin and not. Her lips form words and he hears them as reverberations in his own head.

"D'eon?" She asks. He can't say 'yes' but he thinks perhaps she knows him well enough because her, his?, lips smile. She doesn't speak again, but runs her fingers through his hair. It is his. Hers was always thicker, longer, more beautiful. She pulls it back from her face and ties it. It's the way he wears his hair and their reflection is strange. She slips off the dress, standing bare-armed in a slip, her hair pulled back, flat chested against the fall of feminine silk. She runs to fingers up one arm, inspecting a scar he earned falling out of a tree when they were seven and eight. D'eon tries not to squirm at the oddness of it, seeing his sister, watching himself. He's beginning to loose which is which even more so when she slips off the slip. He's very glad that he wore pants under the whole outfit. Lia sinks to her knees, sliding towards the mirror to look into his, their eyes.

He wonders if maybe she can see him in there. She sighs and turns her back to the mirror. He finds himself looking across the dark room. The bed lays rumpled, his sword sitting close at hand. His bags half packed a the foot. They'll be leaving here shortly. D'eon doesn't live anywhere anymore. Half in and out of his own head every day, traveling, both spirit and body, to find answers. The touch of hands, his own, ghosting across his abdomin makes him startle, but he can't jump. His mind is caught in the unfamiliar feeling. For the first time he wants to stop, her to stop. Not seeing himself, her movements, but feeling them catches him off gaurd. He doesn't know what she is thinking. He doesn't know what his own body is doing beyond the fact that he feels it as it happens. He can see his toes wiggle. He knows the floor is cold, but it's the sort of thing he doesn't mind. He wonders if Lia will put on socks. He wants to wrap his arms around his knees. He wants his sister _back_ , not inside his head. He wants to hear her voice, to talk to her. It is with horror that instead they stand and he can feel her sliding off his pants.

When she sits back down they are naked. The floor is a little cold underneath him, the rough grit of poorly polished wood. Her fingers trail over his body again and D'eon fights the urge to gasp, then realizes that it doesn't matter. He would be shaking. Her fingers find tension in his neck and kneed there for a moment before sliding warm palms over his shoulder and down his sides. She curls a lock of his hair around one finger. D'eon can see it. His hair, his hand. His hair feels silky, it feels thick. D'eon remembers he used to pull at Lia's curls to annoy her. It makes him want to cry. The impulse is quickly put aside as her fingers continue their exploration and delve between his legs. The feeling is immediate and electric. D'eon can feel his spine going stiff in shock and finds himself looking at the ceiling. A panting moan escapes his throat as his hand begins to stroke. It's not a rhythm he would have chosen. It's strange and alien. _Not_ his hand, not his mind. He feels as if Lia is all around and in that moment can do nothing but give in to it.

He doesn't close his eyes but the world is out of focus. He can feel all of it, pleasure building, the hot tightness of his own hand. Fingers clutching at his thigh, the cool of glass as he turns his head. And he's looking at her, or she's looking at him. D'eon wonders if she intended this, their eyes inches apart in the mirror, so close he can't see anything. D'eon has a moment of wondering how this will change things. Lia so driven by revenge, by her justice. How does this fit into metamorphasis and posession. Lia who quotes scripture. Lia who as always cared, protected, and exceeded expectations. All D'eon really wants is to hold her hand, to ask her her secrets, ask her _why_. And now this, one more question. And then pleasure seizes him and D'eon watches stars spark against the backs of his own eyelids, his spine going loose and slumping against the mirror, his hand falling loose to his side and the world spinning and tilting in the rush of sudden control as his eyes open and he slowly raises his own hand.

He bends his fingers one by one into a fist, watching them work. When they respond he slowly stands, not looking back towards the mirror. There isn't much mess to tend to, he quickly wipes himself off. The dress is safe, crumpled in the far corner. He tries not to look at it. He'll deal with it in the morning. D'eon walks to the bed as if in a daze. Lia does not remain anywhere in his mind. D'eon knows she'll be back. She still has work to do, and so does he. He folds his hands over his chest, a mimicry of her frozen form in her coffin. Closing his eyes he can almost believe he is wholey himself. No one but D'eon de Beaumont. And still, as just D'eon, he knows he will give everything. The sentiment sits heavy in his core, but it is still unshakeable. She will be back. And someday, they will have vengeance.


End file.
